


Port in a Storm

by gonergone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Sibling Incest, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan goes to Declan's college to confront him; it goes about as well as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Port in a Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breverith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breverith/gifts).



From where he was perched on the bed, Ronan heard the footsteps approaching Declan's door and smiled as they stopped suddenly. Declan was, he expected, seeing the black boot prints on the door and splintered wood of the doorframe and doing the math. Ronan could practically _hear_ the wheels turning in Declan's mind, ticking off possibilities, plans of action. He was like that: always had a plan. He figured there was a 30 percent chance Declan would call the police or campus security before he tried to go into the room, which was enough of a chance in his favor that he sprawled back on the bed, arranged his face into his most insolent and bored expression (practiced to perfection on Gansey), and waited.

Right on time, Declan pushed the door open, slowly. 

He saw Ronan and his eyes narrowed, but the rest of his body relaxed. Ronan had thought the first question would be the obvious, _What are you doing in DC?_ The answer, he thought as he lounged on the bed, was equally obvious. Maybe that's why Declan didn't ask it. 

"What do you want?" he asked instead, shouldering through the door and kicking it closed behind him. It made a dull sound as the fractured lock thumped against the broken wood where the rest of it should have been, but it stayed closed.

"You really should get a better lock, you know. That barely took one kick. Aren't you worried about burglars?"

"What do you _want_ , Ronan?"

Ronan's fists clenched slightly at the familiar tone. He forced himself to relax. "I know you know about me, and Dad."

Declan eyed him warily. "So?"

Ronan's mouth turned down. He'd expected a denial, a tirade, a… something. Declan's lack of emotion bothered him. " _So?_ " he repeated sharply, his eyes never leaving his brother's face.

"So, I know. So what? I've always known. So what? Are you going to demand I stop knowing? Believe me, I wish I _could_." He glared at Ronan. "Maybe," he added nastily, "you can dream that for me."

Ronan jumped to his feet. "If you've always known, why didn't you ever say anything? Even after Dad" – _was murdered_ hung in the air, but Ronan couldn't make himself say it – "died?"

Declan looked at him as if he were an idiot. "It was a secret, Ronan," he spat. "The kind of secret that could be dangerous. I knew that, even if our father didn't, and look what happened to him."

Ronan punched him, his fist arching up and slamming perfectly in the center of Declan's right cheekbone. Declan staggered back a step, but otherwise didn't react, so Ronan punched him again. 

It probably felt better than it should have.

Declan just stood there looking at him, taking everything Ronan dished out without complaint, which made Ronan _really_ angry, so angry he could feel it burning his veins like poison.

"Hit me back!" he shouted, needing to settle this, _this_ , between him and Declan, that had always been between him and Declan, lurking on the edges of his entire life. He needed it settled, finished, done, finally. Finally. 

"I'm not going to hit you, Ronan," Declan said evenly. There was blood on his cheek, but not much. His lip was split, a little, near the corner of his mouth, and Ronan watched as he prodded the cut with the tip of his tongue.

Ronan examined his own torn knuckles and shook out his hand slowly. "You hate me as much as I hate you, so why not? Afraid I'll beat the shit out of you?" Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to so much he could taste it, the burning desire to see Declan on the floor in front of him, bloody lips and bruised cheeks. Declan begging him to stop, please, stop, mouthing his name like a prayer. He wasn't sure he had ever, ever wanted anything more. 

Declan smiled bitterly. "You really believe that, don't you? You always have. That's why you needed Matthew." 

Any mention of Matthew made Ronan feel guilty, and he felt especially guilty because he knew Matthew would throw a shitfit if he saw Ronan punch Declan, no matter how much Declan deserved it. Ronan knew Matthew was the best thing about him, and he'd give anything to protect him, even from Ronan himself. "He loves me," he said, aware of how defensive it sounded.

Declan nodded, slowly. "I know. That's why you made him, to love you. For the same reason that Dad made Mom." 

Ronan could feel his stomach turn over, because the moment Declan said it, he knew it was the truth. He _knew_ it.

"No," he said anyway. 

Declan looked at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "Yes, you did, Ronan. When you were three. It's not surprising you don't remember, but I do. You wanted… you wanted a brother who would love you. So you created one, and pulled him out of your dream."

"No," Ronan said again, but his voice was shaky and faint. He legs were useless, and he sat down on the edge of the bed before he fell over. 

He looked up and found Declan watching him closely.

"I wasn't sure if you knew or not, he said quietly. "I thought you probably didn't, and I was going to keep it a secret – for his good, not yours. But if something happens to you, what happened to Mom will happen to Matthew, and I don't think you want that. I know there's nothing in the world I can say to you to make you be careful because you'd never do it for me, but you will do it for him. I know you will. So be careful, Ronan. Whatever you're doing with Gansey and Parrish, be careful. For Matthew." 

Ronan's fists clenched, but the white-hot anger had deserted him. He was left feeling small and helpless, which he hated more than anything. Even worse was the knowledge that Declan was right. If he had created Matthew, he owed it to him to be careful. He could bring him to Cabeswater, but what kind of life was that? For either of them? Did dream people die like normal people, or would they live forever, trapped in Cabeswater until they went crazy?

"You must love this," he said, his voice low and torn.

"Don't be stupid," Declan snapped. "Do you think I enjoy watching you suffer?"

Ronan's eyes narrowed. "When have you ever seen me suffer?" he asked incredulously.

"What do you think you've been doing this past year, Ronan? What do you think you're doing right now?"

Ronan considered for a moment. "Yes, I think you enjoy watching me suffer."

Declan rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Of course you do. Well, you're wrong, for what it's worth."

Ronan laughed, sharp as barbed wire. "Sure, Declan." 

He stood up slowly, eyeing Declan carefully. The tension between them, the claustrophobic feeling he got whenever he was too close to his brother – it was still there, would probably always be there. He'd hoped he could get rid of it if he brought Declan to his knees just once, but he wasn't so sure anymore. He wasn't entirely sure of anything anymore.

That's when Declan covered the distance between them in a single step and kissed him. 

Ronan had been prepared for a punch, a shove, anything – well, almost anything, clearly, because for a moment he was too stunned to react, his synapses firing but nothing coming through except for the confirmation that yes, those were Declan's lips against his, and Declan's hand on his waist, holding him steady. 

He'd barely processed that much when Declan pulled away slightly, his eyes wide and intent on Ronan's face, gaging his reaction. Ronan wasn't sure what Declan saw, but one side of Declan's mouth quirked up, and he leaned in and kissed him again.

That was enough to snap Ronan out of it. He pushed Declan away and they stared at each other for a long, long moment, both of them breathing hard. 

Declan closed his eyes, and Ronan knew he was waiting for him to hit him again, to hurt him, to do _something_. Because that was what Ronan _did_.

Instead, he hooked his fingers into Declan's white button-down and yanked him forward, shoving Declan against the wall hard enough to make him grunt in surprise. His eyes blinked open and he stared at Ronan, waiting. Ronan was disappointed that there wasn't any fear in his face, just resignation. The last thing he saw as he pushed their mouths together again was Declan's eyes widening in surprise, the blue electric so close.

Ronan made sure to run his tongue over the split in Declan's lip and felt him recoil, just enough to smack his head against the wall. Ronan hoped it hurt.

Then he was losing himself in the press of lips and tongues and teeth. 

He only snapped out of it when Declan worked a thigh between Ronan's legs, and for a second Ronan was sure that Declan would jerk his leg up and knee him in the balls, hard, hard enough to make Ronan drop like a ton of bricks. It was what Ronan would have done, probably. Part of him wanted that, because it made more sense than what Declan _did_ do, which was to press his thigh against Ronan's crotch, making Ronan's whole body jerk at the contact. 

He'd never had anyone touch him before. Gansey had had his girlfriends, and Ronan knew he'd had sex with some of them, but being gay in a small town in Virginia didn't leave a lot of options, generally. Of course, it was a boys' school, so there were the expected arrangements between straight boys based on mutual desperation, but even those had passed Ronan by. He was too intimidating to be approached for sex, which he supposed was how he wanted it. Most of the time. 

He knew for a fact that Declan didn't like other men, although he also knew for a fact that Declan wasn't attracted to him, so for the moment it appeared that his facts were somewhat in question. To say the least. 

With Declan's thigh rubbing against him and Declan's hands sliding under his tank it didn't take long. He came in his pants, moaning into Declan's mouth, his hands scrabbling to clutch Declan's back for the long sweet seconds until it was over, and he slumped back against the wall, dazed. 

Declan pulled away, walking over to the door, and Ronan became gradually aware of the wet mess in his pants. He hadn't often felt like a kid since their father had died, but he did then, a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, even. 

Declan cleared his throat. "You should probably go. Remember to put ice on your hand."

Ronan, still breathing hard, threw him an outraged look, but he knew there was no real heat in it. If Declan's whole plan had been to throw him off balance, it had worked in spades; Ronan could barely remember why he had come to Declan's room in the first place. 

Declan's expression was unreadable as Ronan made his way past him, which was a first. Ronan had always thought that all of Declan's mysterious depths had been discovered long ago, but the brother who stood in front of him might as well have been a stranger for all Ronan could tell what he was thinking. _He might as well be Adam_ , his mind supplied, and then shut that down immediately, because Adam was the last thing he needed to be thinking about. He wasn't sure if Adam or Declan would object more strenuously to the comparison. 

Ronan prodded the bloody knuckles all the way back to his car, needing the reminder that everything was still real.


End file.
